Well…this is what came out as I sat in the shotgun seat for a six hour drive :-\ Besides, no offense to neone, but the whole "angst" thing is getting a bit old.  

~**~If any of you are up to reading my update to "the coming of september", I just…haven't been inspired.  :'(  I'm not sure whether or not I'll get the inspiration by the end of the weekend, let alone the time.  Just thought I'd give you an update.  ^_^

Neither Albus nor Minerva is mine.  If they were…trust me, I wouldn't be sitting at home right now posting this.

Please, if you're not into AD/MM fics, then why do you read them?  And if you're not into the couple, and you read this, no flaming please.  I like to think this story was considerably good for me, don't ruin my happiness.

**********************

Picture Perfection

            Minerva smiled quietly as she opened the next box.  So many wonderful memories were here beneath the dust and cobwebs of their attic.  Photographs of all sorts lay between long lost trinkets that had been forgotten over the years.  Photos containing her children, husband, and friends were everywhere, memories were ablaze.

            Inside the dust filled box, she found a number of children's books she used to read to her youngest; Hansel and Gretel, Jack and the Beanstalk, Tortoise and the Hare, in other words meaningless muggle books.  But these books were as full of memories as anything else.

            Beside the books was yet another photo album.  Quickly, she flipped through it, having one memory, then the next flow through her mind.  There were so many summer days spent beside the pond on their estate.  Then the quiet evenings that she and her husband spent beside the fire.  Being a family was a wonderful thing.

            For a long time now, their family of five had been reduced to a family of four.  Her only daughter Gwendolyn and her son Nick were what she had now.  Her other son, Peter, had long since been deceased while going on a raid for a supporter of Voldemort.  There was nothing she or anyone else could have done to save her baby boy; the surprise attack wasn't as much of a surprise as one could have hoped.  It happened seven years ago, she would never have thought about it if she weren't back up along with all the memories, the pictures and books.  She felt a tear trickle down her cheek.

            "Are you alright up here Min?"

            She wiped away the memory quickly, and looked at the door, where her husband stood.  "Everything is fine hon.  It's just a bit hard going through memory lane."

            "Would you want me to help?"

            "I'm always happy to have you help with anything," she smiled.  "Come over here and help me with this other box."  He nodded, walked over, and sat beside her on their dusty attic floor.  He opened another yet dusty box, and Minerva turned her gaze back towards the box she'd been looking in.

            She pulled out an old stuffed animal from it, and brought it close to her chest.  It had once been Peter's; that teddy bear had once been her baby boy's.  She could recall tucking him in at night, and he would have her tuck the bear in as well.  The bears name was Cannon, named after his favorite quidditch player, Christopher "the cannon" Baker.  Sometimes she would give up anything to have him back, even if it were for a second.

            "Hey Min," she looked towards Albus who had a wide grin on his face.  "I bet you won't ever be able to guess what I've just found."

            He waved a photo up in the air.  The smile on his face made him look ten years younger.  She couldn't help but smile herself.  "Probably not.  What did you find?"

            He shook his head, and stared at the picture.  "You looked good," he chuckled.  His eyes twinkled merrily.  "No wonder we ended up with three kids instead of one like we planned."  He beamed at the picture, then Minerva as if daring her to ask.  She stood up quickly, and reached for the photo.  He pulled it away from her with a wicked grin.

            "Albus!  What is that picture of?!"

            "You," he stole a glance at the picture, "not wearing anything."

            "What?" she laughed aloud, "Stop lying to me.  Hand me the picture."

            "Nope," he stood up and sat up straight beneath the threshold to the attic.  "I'm going to put this in a frame and put it in our room," he chuckled.

            Minerva followed his lead, and stood infront of him beneath the threshold.  "Let me see it."  She tried to hide the smile on her face.

            "The only way you'll do that is if you pay the toll.  One prolonged kiss please."

            He wanted to play; it was quite cute after all of those years together.  But hell, she was up for the game, or chase, whichever it may be.  She smiled and leaned up to kiss him.  All the while her hands slid into his, and she clasped the picture tightly between her fingertips.  Their lips came apart, and somewhat skeptically she looked at the old photograph.  She felt her jaw drop like an elephant dropping from a three story building.  Her husband began to laugh whole heartedly.

            "Told you," he wrapped his hands around her waist, "you look pretty good to me."

            "When was this taken?"

            "You mean you don't remember our honeymoon anymore?"  He lunged out his hand for the picture.  She pulled it away from him.

            "I don't remember you taking that picture."  She stared down at her unusually bare body.  Sheets covered most of her, thankfully, but it was very well obvious as to what was, or may have been happening.  A good lot of skin showed, it may almost have been better if there weren't a sheet.  Patches of her thighs and upper half were as clear as day as the photograph moved, gently shaking its head with a smile, and pushed the sheet away from its body.  The smile made her wonder dearly just when the picture had been taken, she couldn't have been that senseless.

            "I remember it perfectly well," he beamed, "the day before I took it you told me you were pregnant."

            Minerva's eyes grew wide.  'Of course,' she blinked, 'the celebration.'  She looked back towards her husband.

            "You remember now?"

            "Yes, I do," she smiled, "and no, you can not put this in our room, or anywhere in the house but the attic.  If someone sees this, we are in deep sludge."

            "I'll just hide it under my pillow then."  He lent out his hand for her to hand the picture over.

            "You're not getting this picture Albus Dumbledore, not on your life."

            "No," he pulled her closer to him, close enough to feel the heat of his breath, "you mean I'll have to steal it from you?"

            "No," she whispered playfully, "I mean you're not getting it."

            "Very funny Mrs. Dumbledore," he said soothingly, leaning in even closer.  She smiled wickedly, and shrunk down into a cat, with the photo in her mouth.  She raced quickly down the attic stairs, and into her bedroom.  Albus came in quietly minutes later, and found the cat lying sprawled out on the covers purring softly.  "I could just as easily take that picture out of your mouth as I could turn myself invisible," he breathed.

            She changed back to herself, with her long dark hair cascading down her back and a muggle dress covering her fair skin.  "I can just as easily rip it to shreds as I can change to a cat," she smirked.

            "Don't make me go over there and take it from you."

            "And if I do?" she whispered softly.

            "You're not leaving this room."

            "Excuse me?"

            Slowly, he walked towards her.  She was careful to keep the picture perfectly well out of reach.  "You have one last chance."  He pointed his index finger.

            She merely smiled at him, and batted her eyes.  He wasn't to get the picture, even if it meant to never leave the house again.  He crept closer to her, and sat on the bed before her.  "You know, we've had this bed for far too long," he said calmly, "a lot of happy memories here."

            "I suppose," she gazed at him suspiciously.  He was going to strike any minute.  He was going to slip the photo right out of her hands.  

            He leaned in, and put a hand on her hip gently.  She didn't dare move, he'd have that picture the moment she let her shield down.  His other hand traced from her eye to her lips, and lingered there for far too long.

            The room was silent.  So silent, she could hear her heart begin to race, she could hear his, also quick, breathing.  She didn't take her eyes off of Albus, nor did she dare to stop gripping the picture tightly.

            "It's been a while min," he whispered finally, "…too long."

            "Since what?"  She didn't need to ask, she knew what the answer was.  She'd stopped counting weeks ago.  She'd merely been put under the impression that they were getting old.

            "Since we've made love."

            She swallowed, and spoke in a ragged breath.  "What about the picture?"

            Silence came and went.  "What do I need the picture for, when I've got the real thing?"  

            He leaned down, and claimed her lips with his without any reply other than a deep moan of satisfaction.

******************************

            Good?  Bad? Horrible? Stupid? Interesting?  Could you review please?  I spent a whole thirty minutes translating this from my notebook onto the computer, just for you! ^_^